THE BRASS BOWL
hopped excitedly into the room, cast at the girl one terrified glance out of eyes that glittered with excitement like black diamonds, set in a face the hue of yeast, and clutched the burglar's arm.
"Oh, Anisty, Anisty!" he cried piteously. "What is it? What is it? Tell me!"
"It's all right," returned the burglar. "Don't you worry, little man. Pull yourself together." And laughed.
"But what—what" stammered the other.
"Only that she's given herself away," chuckled Anisty: "beautifully and completely. 'The brass bowl,' says she,—thinking I never saw one on Maitland's desk!—and 'O'Hagan, and who the divvle are you?' says the man on the other end of the wire, when I ask who he is."
"And? And?" pleaded the little man, dancing with worry.
"And it means that my lady here returned the jewels to Maitland by hiding them under a brass ash-receiver on his desk—ass that I was not to know! … You are 'cute, my lady!" with an
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